The days passed, as days are wont to do; morning fusing with noon,
soon giving way to dusk. Nothing remarkable occurring during the duration
of the standard days. Like every day for the past five years I woke with
my fellow Slytherins, actually becoming aware of the world over a breakfast
I couldn't have recalled later for the life of me, broke the monotony of
classes by contemptuously addressing some student from another House, ate
dinner with Vincent and Gregory by my side, and endured Carlos's attentions
as twilight seeped into the sky. However, now the nights contained more
for me then contemplation by the fireplace or in Carlo's bed. Under the
cover of evening, I was able to make my way to the hut of the oaf in which
the entertainment would adhere to the regimental verbal sparring giving way
to burning, painful kisses, later soothed by a refreshing bout of holding
my spit-fire redhead. In the lethargic tone of the latter activity,
Weasely developed the habit of talking as I aimlessly traced circuits upon
his arms and chest. At first, his chatter would consist of events which
had occurred during the course of the day. Then, his prattle would lead to
candid, soul bearing musings. It was as if, in the still of night, he
would momentarily forget we were enemies whose very surname demanded mutual
hatred. Here, in the ethereal ambiguity of those few moments, we were
merely two survivors of a harsh reality, taking comfort in the solidity of
one another.
However, no matter how lovely and tempting an illusion, I could never permit my senses to abandon as completely as he. I could never loose sight of the severe reality lurking behind the shadows and moonbeams. Thus, I maintained my façade in the guise of silence; steadfastly refusing to answer any question he might ask of me. Tonight was no different, though the topic was. Usually he would attempt to learn more of my life, family, friends, that sort of thing, however I maintained my stoic reticence. This night, he was intent upon discovering the cause of the newly formed gash running across my cheek. He pressed so adamantly, I finally left him there, still sitting on the chilled floor.
Instead of immediately returning to the school, as I should have done, I took advantage of the shielding the shadows offered, leaning warily against a large tree, looking out to the moonlit waters of the lake. Touching a fingertip to my cut still tacky with blood, I dipped into the grim recesses of memory from mere hours ago.
"I want you to hurt him tomorrow. When we go to Hogsmeade is the perfect opportunity."
"No, its far too soon, its been little more than a week. You must give it more time. He's already starting to open—"
"I WANT YOU TO BREAK HIS HEART AND I WANT IT TO BE TOMORROW! I WANT TO WATCH WHEN HE KILLS HIMSELF FROM GRIEF!"
"I still maintain driving him to kill himself is a little unrealistic and extreme—"
Pain exploded as he savagely backhanded me, stifling my objections, an unyielding surface tearing along my flesh in the process. When my vision cleared, I saw him regarding his blood stained ring in amazement. Cautiously bringing it to his lips, he flicked his tongue, cleaning it in a serpentine manner. Once it was clean, he brought his eyes to my face, tipping my chin back to get a better look at the damage he had inflicted. Leaning closer, he licked my wound much as had his ring, cleansing it of blood. When he was finished, he mused detachedly.
"Poor broken dragon, his perfection now marred." Releasing his grip on my face, his manner was now all business, as if he had never struck me. "Very well, we will give it one more week. But after that, you will hurt him."
The cool slide of bare arms embracing me from behind brought me from my reverie. Standing at his full height, Weasely was able to tuck my head below his chin, his stance both protective and comforting. I could not stifle the cold wind sweeping through my hollow breast. I felt a feathery kiss brush my hair, followed by the weight of his cheek, before he began to speak, his voice a whisper, as if afraid to break the utter stillness of the dark.
"I'm sorry. I know you don't like it when I pry, I just wanted to know what happened."
"Be that as it may, you must believe me when I tell you I am heartless."
"No, that's not true…"
"Weasley..." The sound was like a growl, rumbling my annoyance.
"Ron. When we're out here at night, call me Ron."
"Ron. I will only lead you to sorrow."
"No, you won't. I don't know what exactly I feel for you, but I know I feel something. And I would have to be mad not to know you feel even a slight something back. All I know is you aren't the cold, jaded thing you make yourself out to be."
"If only you knew."
My voice was a faint whisper before I resolutely broke away from his embrace and walked resolutely back to the school.
However, no matter how lovely and tempting an illusion, I could never permit my senses to abandon as completely as he. I could never loose sight of the severe reality lurking behind the shadows and moonbeams. Thus, I maintained my façade in the guise of silence; steadfastly refusing to answer any question he might ask of me. Tonight was no different, though the topic was. Usually he would attempt to learn more of my life, family, friends, that sort of thing, however I maintained my stoic reticence. This night, he was intent upon discovering the cause of the newly formed gash running across my cheek. He pressed so adamantly, I finally left him there, still sitting on the chilled floor.
Instead of immediately returning to the school, as I should have done, I took advantage of the shielding the shadows offered, leaning warily against a large tree, looking out to the moonlit waters of the lake. Touching a fingertip to my cut still tacky with blood, I dipped into the grim recesses of memory from mere hours ago.
"I want you to hurt him tomorrow. When we go to Hogsmeade is the perfect opportunity."
"No, its far too soon, its been little more than a week. You must give it more time. He's already starting to open—"
"I WANT YOU TO BREAK HIS HEART AND I WANT IT TO BE TOMORROW! I WANT TO WATCH WHEN HE KILLS HIMSELF FROM GRIEF!"
"I still maintain driving him to kill himself is a little unrealistic and extreme—"
Pain exploded as he savagely backhanded me, stifling my objections, an unyielding surface tearing along my flesh in the process. When my vision cleared, I saw him regarding his blood stained ring in amazement. Cautiously bringing it to his lips, he flicked his tongue, cleaning it in a serpentine manner. Once it was clean, he brought his eyes to my face, tipping my chin back to get a better look at the damage he had inflicted. Leaning closer, he licked my wound much as had his ring, cleansing it of blood. When he was finished, he mused detachedly.
"Poor broken dragon, his perfection now marred." Releasing his grip on my face, his manner was now all business, as if he had never struck me. "Very well, we will give it one more week. But after that, you will hurt him."
The cool slide of bare arms embracing me from behind brought me from my reverie. Standing at his full height, Weasely was able to tuck my head below his chin, his stance both protective and comforting. I could not stifle the cold wind sweeping through my hollow breast. I felt a feathery kiss brush my hair, followed by the weight of his cheek, before he began to speak, his voice a whisper, as if afraid to break the utter stillness of the dark.
"I'm sorry. I know you don't like it when I pry, I just wanted to know what happened."
"Be that as it may, you must believe me when I tell you I am heartless."
"No, that's not true…"
"Weasley..." The sound was like a growl, rumbling my annoyance.
"Ron. When we're out here at night, call me Ron."
"Ron. I will only lead you to sorrow."
"No, you won't. I don't know what exactly I feel for you, but I know I feel something. And I would have to be mad not to know you feel even a slight something back. All I know is you aren't the cold, jaded thing you make yourself out to be."
"If only you knew."
My voice was a faint whisper before I resolutely broke away from his embrace and walked resolutely back to the school.